Hammer Mill Days

Shore it up, boys. Let's keep the roof on this thing. Sure, it used to be the floor, but when something's keeping the rain off your head, it's a roof. Unless it's a hood ... or an umbrella. Never mind. Hey, well, here we are again, man. Trying to keep a broken home together. I don't mean that daddy left and ain't coming back (even though that's roughly true); I mean we're fixing a hole where the rain came in ... and it's the size of the freaking roof. We're borrowing wood from the floor to shore up the roof. We're borrowing planks from the south wall to block up the gaping hole in the north wall. This is like the fabled Ship of Theseus. This isn't a home ... it's a philosophical paradox! Is it the same potting shed as when we moved here? Only your logic professor can say for certain. Sure, sometimes the demands of home ownership (or home occupancy) keep us from our real work, the work we were put here to do. And that's a good ...

Like so many weeks during the Trump era, this one has been dizzying. It started with the massive climate change resistance marches led by Greta Thunberg and other young people, and it's ending with what appears to be the most brazen example yet of Donald Trump self-dealing in the conduct of his office. Whoa, momma ... it's like drinking from a fire hose .... again. Let me start with these amazing young climate activists. I have to say, if anyone is going to be able to save our sorry asses, it's these folks .... and I don't mean that we should sit back, fold our arms, and wait for them to deliver us from climate catastrophe. I mean that their activism can be the catalyst for real change. It is impossible to argue with people who will inevitably inherit the world that we are so actively wrecking. Their outrage is justified, and we should follow their lead. There have been times when I have fallen into resignation on this issue, I will admit, but they give me reason to r...

I don't know - what do you think? It's been a few weeks. Actually longer. Starting to lose track. When you've been at sea as long as we have, you forget what the shore looks like. Though if memory serves, it sure looks like shit. Ah, forgive me. You caught me in the midst of my musings. My mind tends to wander as I squat here in the humble potting shed that sits in the courtyard of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, our erstwhile squat-house now under occupation by hostile neighbors. (See what I mean? I can't even write short sentences anymore.) Living here offers an opportunity to reflect on where we've been and where we're going. Where we've been is nowhere. Where we're going is, who the hell knows. And the midpoint between nowhere and who the hell knows is ... I don't know, fuck-all? Something nicer? For some reason, this week we were talking about whether or not Big Green would do another album. After all, our last release was in 2013, when we...

All right, so, I watched most of the debate last week, and the thing I came away with was something like what Anand Giridharadas said the weekend after - that I had watched what should amount to Joe Biden's retirement party. The odd thing about that phenomenon is that almost no one on mainstream television appears to agree with that. In fact, some of the usual pundits were saying that this was Biden's best night of the three debates. I have to scratch my head when I hear this stuff - did they see the same show I saw? Or is it just that they have lowered the performance bar for Biden to such an extent that he basically can do no wrong. That is not the Biden I saw. His worst moment, namely his response to the question about the legacy of slavery in America, was aptly dissected by the Majority Report crew, who I think nailed it on the head. In his halting way, Biden began his response by talking about his fight against segregation, then pivoted quickly, recalling that this was a...

Hmmmm. That looks like light coming in. Not necessarily a bad thing, except that's a wall, not a window. So, I don't know... somewhat problematic. Okay, it turns out that a potting shed is not the best place to hide during a hurricane or other extreme weather event. Who knew? Seemed sturdy enough when we moved in. I know you're used to hearing us complain about nearly everything, but we had very few complaints about the shed, aside from the fact that there was no screen for the fireplace. Our landlord's response? "Run for your lives! The potting shed doesn't HAVE a fireplace!" Yesterday the wind started kicking up and water came pouring down from the heavens like one of those super soaker shower heads. (Actually the shower head is like the rain, but never mind.) Then the entire structure started to sway lazily in the wind. Far from keeping the weather out, the shed was practically inviting it in, and frankly, this shed isn't big enough for me and s...

Bolton's gone. We survived Bolton. That's something to celebrate, at least. When Trump hired him, I honestly didn't see how we would avoid a precipitous war with Iran, but thus far it hasn't happened and now Johnny Mustache has died and gone to Fox. Good riddance. Now that I've got THAT out of my system, just a head's up that I'm going to do another debate night notebook this week. The major Democratic presidential candidates will all be on one stage this time around, and I'll be tapping random stuff into my tablet as they spar. It's either going to be really interesting or the usual bland corporate show we've gotten previously. Really a much stronger chance of the latter, but we'll see. First comment: What the hell corporate network is this debate on? This is the problem with this model of campaign debates. They become proprietary content, and as such, none of the other networks will talk about the details until the program's over. ...

Haven't you finished that symphony yet? Well, get going. You've got a piano concerto to write as well. Don't hurry or anything .... it's due to the publisher on Friday. That's today. Man, some of these deadlines are hard to meet, particularly when you're living in a crowded, leaky potting shed in the courtyard of your former sqauthouse, the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. We're just trying to keep the ship afloat here, folks, and to do so we cannot limit ourselves to any single genre of music. That's why I have Marvin (my personal robot assistant) composing music for hire. This week he's working on modern classical music ... long hair stuff. Marvin knows what that's all about. I plugged a Classical Gas album into his tape drive. With all the disruption, you'd think our mail wouldn't find us, but never underestimate the power of mail carriers to find their target. They dropped us a parcel of letters, postcards, and newsletters as thick a...